Dawn
by Shipperwolf
Summary: Tomorrow they would fight. Tomorrow they could die. And she may never get another chance to show him how much he means to her. Post-3x13 Caryl oneshot. Adult-content warning.


**Hey all!**

**The smut-bug bit me recently, although I certainly didn't expect it to produce THIS. **

**I don't know if this can be considered 'smut', but it's more than I've written in the "M" department in awhile! **

**Gone Random, this one's for you, for all the times you asked me to write it and I kept making up excuses. ;)**

**And my fellow Carylers on Tumblr: For being generally awesome.**

**And as always, I disclaim TWD! (Also Dove hygiene products. I don't own them either.)**

* * *

_She stared at the table, counting the individual pieces of metal laid out for them. _

_Guns._

_Cartridges._

_Ammo._

_Arrows._

_Grenades._

_Smoke bombs._

_All neatly lined up, organized, silently waiting to be placed together, tucked into their masters' hands, and used for war._

_**War**__._

_Carol frowned. A lifetime ago, that word was something only heard in the news. Something thrown around by commentators looking for a dramatic flare in their discussions. _

_Something far far away, across the water, where it could hurt their soldiers and spare them its horror._

_Not anymore._

_War was real for them now, and if she thought about it, it had been for a year. Since the outbreak. The Dead were the first enemy, their weapon biological._

_New and scary and foreign._

_At least _this _war would be taking them back to square one._

_Man against man._

_Bullets flying._

_Blood._

_Screaming._

_Death._

_She pursed her lips and balled her hands into fists, eyes landing on the new quiver for Daryl's extra arrows._

_Tomorrow, they would fight. _

_Tomorrow, they could die._

_The next day, they could all be lying in the blood-soaked earth, to fester and boil until the virus jerked them all back to un-life and made them monsters._

_Never to speak again._

_Never to touch again._

_Never to love again._

* * *

Maybe she was afraid.

No, of course she was afraid. They all were. It was natural. Nerves were on edge all over the prison; she'd even venture to guess Merle Dixon himself was biting his nails in anticipation of what the morning would bring.

Maybe her fear, her nerves, were freeing her from reason, driving the desperate decision she'd made as she stood there in the armory alone and stared at his weapons.

Maybe it was desperation itself that saw her dip into her cell, shed her sweater, and pull on the red tank he'd picked out for her months ago on the road. The one that seemed to pull his eye to her more often than any other, that had his gaze lingering on the flowery pattern at her waist for just a second too long.

Maybe it was fear of dying without this moment that chased away her hesitancy and made her drag out her rarely-used Dove deodorant from the bottom of her private 'girl stash', apply it liberally, and sniff at herself before running a hand through her slightly oily hair and sliding out to casually ease her way up the stairs to his room.

Carol glanced down over the railing to see Rick restlessly pacing the bay below, rifle on his back, tension in his hunched shoulders.

Carl had just walked outside to the cage, taking over watch.

Everyone else had retired to their beds to find whatever inkling of sleep they could.

She stopped at Daryl's cell doorway, peered into the grey shadow to find his dark form sitting up slightly in the bottom bunk, hands folded behind his head and staring at the nothingness of the mattress above him.

"Hey."

His voice was a whisper, rough and scratchy and low. Carol suddenly found her nerves twisting in a million different directions, and she reached out to finger one of the bars of his open cell gate.

"Hey."

"Cain't sleep?'

She shook her head.

He shrugged.

"Me neither. Figure it's just as well. Probably pass out an hour before dawn or somethin'."

Carol nodded slightly, slid forward to cross the threshold into his room. Her hands trembled for just a moment before she breathed deep and steeled herself.

Tomorrow they went to war.

And the next day…

"Can I keep you company?"

She smiled, but in the thickening darkness she wasn't sure he could see it.

Daryl slid up a bit in his bed, pulled his legs up to bring his knees nearly bumping into the overhead bunk. An invitation to sit down with him.

She inhaled again. Sighed.

Sat.

Tried not to giggle hysterically as she fought to make herself comfortable with what little space was available.

Tucking her legs halfway under her, Carol found herself nearly leaning against his shins and Daryl grunted at the contact before pulling his legs closer towards his chest.

"Sorry." She chuckled at her awkwardness.

And despite it, Daryl did too.

She ducked her head in the darkness and smiled, lifted her eyes to search out his face. Shadows loomed over them both, the bunk casting them deeper into sightlessness but she could still see him enough to know he was looking at her.

His lips were still lifted from his laugh, his head cocked to the side slightly as he peered around his knees at her.

The grin fell, slowly, and she wondered if he could see her nervousness.

Sense it.

He breathed loudly and propped himself up, hair brushing the bunk above as he jerked it toward her.

"Ya alright?"

Carol laughed again, shook her head. And then nodded.

And then shook it again.

No, no she wasn't alright. He wasn't either. None of them were, and until this…_thing_ with Woodbury was settled, they never would be.

Their lives had been turned into an endless Hell, one challenge after another, being thrown at them in never-ending waves just to see if they could survive. It was laughable, and it was terrible.

And maybe they had strength, but they were so _tired_ of searching for more, just a little bit more, just enough to get them past the next surge, the next hurdle.

Maybe if they kept fighting they would find the peaceful life they had been trying to build since the day the world died.

Or maybe they would just find peace.

Carol jolted when something warm landed on her shoulder.

His hand.

She looked at it, looked up and around to find them inches away from each other, one of Daryl's legs curved up around her, bringing her between his knees toward his chest. He'd leaned in, was breathing into her face.

His hand squeezed and she realized there was a cold dampness to her cheeks.

She'd started crying.

And didn't even know it.

"Dammit." She didn't know what she was damning. Their struggle? The Governor? Her tears? Her nerves?

Maybe all of them. Maybe none of them.

Maybe she just felt like cussin' it up, like doing something she wasn't much known for doing.

Like the thing she'd come to Daryl's cell to do….

He'd frozen, she noticed.

His hand didn't leave the bare skin on her shoulder but she could feel the coiling tension in his fingers, the coming shudder in his breath. He stared at her.

Carol felt his head dip slightly, breaking eye contact to suck in the air between them like it was in short supply. His hair tickled her face, and she lifted a hand grip the arm that connected him to her.

And then it happened.

The exhale. The shudder. The tremble of his back that told her he knew _exactly_ why she was there in his room and he didn't quite know how to respond to it.

To her.

When he lifted up slightly she bent in to press her forehead against his, and heard a wheeze in his chest. His hand squeezed her shoulder again.

She squeezed his wrist in return.

Whispered, nervous but sincere, "This time tomorrow it'll be over. I just…want you to know that I care, Daryl," The sweat lingering in his bangs slid across her skin as his head shifted up a bit more, bringing his eyes blinking erratically into hers,

"I want you to know how _much_ I care."

He breathed out again, heavy. A grunt escaped with it. His eyes danced around her own and darted down before sliding shut for a moment as his lips tightened into a thin line. Heat stifled the air around them and she fought a cough as he opened his eyes again.

They squinted, flickered across her face and then shot down into the space between them before a grumble came tumbling from his lips,

"I know."

His words were followed by a sudden relaxation in his muscles, a sigh that seemed to clear him of whatever demon he had been struggling with. Carol watched him pull back just enough to lift his head and nod at her, once, just slight enough for her to catch it.

The leg curled around her backside tightened suddenly, urged her forward and she smiled at the subtle cue.

She felt her fear wash away with her love (and yes, she could tell herself by now that she loved him, loved this man that had seemed to literally stumble haphazardly into her heart), and a sudden burn rushed into her blood.

An entire community wanted them dead.

And tomorrow they would fight.

And tomorrow they would—

She leaned in, too quickly at first, and caught Daryl's slight jerk in the middle of her movement. Carol bit the inside of her lip and slowed, encouraged by the ever-tightenening curl of the leg behind her. His breath was nowhere to be found when she brushed their noses together before tilting enough to press her lips firmly but gently into his.

His mouth barely shifted under the weight of her own, but as she pulled back she felt it open slightly. His nose blew hot air into her face as he finally released the breath he'd been holding.

Another sound escaped his throat, small and shaky. Daryl had clamped his eyes shut when she kissed him. The low whine that slipped into her ears brought a furrow to her brow, and she stopped to pull back and give him room to breathe.

The hand on her shoulder had slipped down across her back, and was pressing into its center, nails pricking through her tank top.

He opened his eyes and looked up at her warily, fighting to breathe steady and Carol smiled at him in understanding.

It wasn't easy, stepping over the line that turned their friendship into something more. It wasn't easy to realize that death was never as close as it was at this point, and if they were going to _be_ something more, it was literally now or never.

Nothing about either of them was easy, and nothing about _this_ would be, either.

But they knew that…

Knew each other.

So she waited.

Daryl watched her from under his shaggy bangs, and she sat there, leaned halfway over him, one hand slipped down to grip to his bicep and the other hovering near his still curled leg.

Carol waited, fingers tracing the hard, lean muscle in his arm and when he moved to press his hand flat against her back and push just an inch, she smiled in agreement and moved forward again to return to his space.

His head was already dipping to meet her and she felt a dizzying surge of lulling relief and stimulating excitement when she kissed him again, bolder this time, holding their mouths together to measure how long he felt comfortable with.

He surprised her.

Daryl pushed into her mouth, awkward but daring, and his lips parted just enough to nip at her own as they pulled away from each other.

His mouth quirked at her in the darkness and she realized her smile was, by now, what he would probably deem a 'shit-eating grin'.

She didn't care.

She was happy.

Happy to be in his cell. Happy to be in his bed. Happy to be _with_ him.

Daryl seemed to shrug at her sudden chuckle and press harder into her back, scooting them down and easing back into the mattress to bring her looming between his open legs.

She kissed him again, parting their mouths and finally finding the courage to bring her tongue into the meeting. She licked at his top lip hesitantly and was met with a fierce exhale into her face, followed by a very _noticeable_ upward sway of his hips beneath her.

"_Shit_." He cursed into the side of her neck and as she leaned further onto him she could feel the bulge press into her belly, the slight jolt of it as it made contact with her between their clothes.

Daryl pressed a dry kiss onto the side of her jaw, as if to apologize for cussing.

She returned the gesture, lifting a hand to run her fingers through his thick, dirty hair, and worked to coax Daryl's legs closer together beneath her. He sighed in exasperation as they fumbled for a moment, awkward and almost silly, and Carol laughed as she finally came to straddle him.

He was gripping her sides, gentle, expectant, and when she looked down at him he offered a small quirk of his lips.

She moved, swayed her hips over his middle to come brushing against his erection and even through both their pairs of jeans it felt like a lightning strike. Daryl jerked up in response, his fingers suddenly digging into her hips and pushing, pulling, a desperate attempt to get her closer.

He wasn't grinning at her anymore.

His teeth had set onto his bottom lip and he stared up into her with an intensity she only saw in him when he was hunting down Walkers. Small hisses escaped him as he kept at it, pushing himself up against her, trying to get whatever relief he could.

She rolled against him and bent down, kissed his lips softly before moving her mouth up to place another at his brow.

She understood. God, she understood.

Sex for her—at least in the many long years she spent married to Ed Peletier—was never anything to be joyous about. Never anything to want.

And certainly nothing to _need_.

She couldn't remember the last she'd actually _wanted_ this, wanted to be connected to someone, to feel the searing heat and drug-like bliss and know that the person with you was someone you actually needed. Someone you loved.

Carol couldn't speak for him, but as Daryl slid a hand off her side to cup the back of her neck and pull her back against his mouth, she dared to think that maybe, he wanted that connection with her as much as she did with him.

A whimper hummed out of her when he boldly flicked his tongue between her lips and touched her own, and as they broke apart she grinned down at him.

"You're showin' me up, Daryl."

He paused, searching her face for a second before chuckling with another rock of his hips.

"Oops."

The teasing tone of his voice made her happy. He was getting comfortable, and enjoying himself more than wondering whether or not he was _kissing_ her right. When she rocked back onto him, he grunted and another whispered swear slipped from his lips.

Carol smirked.

"This might be more fun if we actually took our clothes off."

Daryl halted the lift of his hips and looked down at himself, then at her, and snorted.

"Oh. Yeah."

She giggled and he snorted again.

Reached up to finger the bottom edge of her tank top.

Sitting up she nearly bumped her head on the upper bunk as she pulled the red tank over her head, Daryl's hands flying to the skin beneath without hesitation. The pads of his fingers skimmed down her sides, sliding across her ribs and tickling her.

She jerked and grabbed at his wrists desperately.

And eyebrow quirked up at her.

"Huh."

She caught the mischief on his face, the look that told her he had learned something very interesting and was storing it away.

Snagging the hem of his old, torn shirt she shook her head and warned, grinning,

"No."

He huffed and lifted himself up enough to allow her to pull the dirty, sweaty shirt off his skin. The moment his chest was exposed Daryl seemed to pause in his enjoyment of their little tryst, propping himself up on his elbows and looking down at his stomach. In the deepening dark Carol could just barely make out the long, gnarly scars that marred his flesh. She frowned a moment before settling her palm over one and leaning down to place a kiss on another.

Daryl breathed deep at her action and brought his hand back to her neck, playing with the wild hairs that were starting to inch their way down it. Carol noticed the way he seemed to hold her head against his skin for a moment, and she took the opportunity to kiss another scar.

And just like that, he was a flurry of movement again.

She couldn't fight the surprised squeak that left her when Daryl suddenly scooted over enough to send her tumbling off his chest, or the heated whimper that followed when he reached down to finger the button of her jeans.

He fumbled for a moment before reaching for the zipper and with an anxious grunt he yanked at the jeans with both hands, practically doing all of the work for her. She watched him run his eyes over her for a moment, tossing the jeans off the side of the bunk and thumbing the edge of her old panties with interest.

They were black, cotton, and very worn, but they were the best she had, and somehow, she knew he knew it.

And she knew he appreciated the effort.

A dragging finger pulled them down her legs and she grinned up at him, impressed with his sudden gall.

He shot another nervous grin her way before reaching for his own torn-to-hell jeans and working his way out of them.

She wasn't surprised to find him without underwear of any sort, and if she weren't so dizzy from anticipation she'd probably feel a bit guilty for all the times she stole a glance at the front of those jeans and tried to guess.

Rough hands landed on her, firm but gentle, one grabbing at a hip and the other slipping to its favorite spot behind her neck, and she breathed in deep, the room spinning in grey and black shadows as he loomed over her and bent down to press his face against her collarbone,

"Ya alright?"

His rough whisper puffed against her skin and she smiled, smelled the salt in his hair and shifted her legs to wrap around his waist.

She nodded.

And with a sharp inhale he slipped forward, down, and sank into her painlessly, like it was something he'd practiced…

Like they'd been doing it for years.

The sudden pressure between her legs sent her head rolling back, legs clenching tight around him and hips lifting in gratitude.

God, she needed this.

Needed him.

Daryl wasted no time in moving, head tucked tight against the side of her neck and she thought she heard his teeth grind together, more hissing in her ear and when he pulled back, _out_, he grunted and raced forward, slamming down harder than she expected.

Carol gasped out loud, and the room became a thick, spiraling pool of pleasure that she could no longer see or hear or _think_ in.

She barely registered the feeling of his hand slipping up to clamp down over her mouth, and she would later understand his need to silence her moans and gasping.

Because she was doing plenty of both.

He rocked against her, slipping in, slipping out, fast and hungry and the pace was all off, and she didn't care. It was the greatest damn feeling she'd ever experienced and she never wanted it to end.

But in the tiny sliver of reason she had in the midst of Daryl's mindless movements, she knew that was far from what would happen.

Daryl was moving faster with every thrust, jerking into her harder, pressing that hand hard against her mouth and hissing, grunting, cursing into her ear and when she whimpered beneath his palm her head cleared up just enough to hear it:

"Fuck, I _can't_—"

And he was gone, slamming down and filling her and growling something incoherent into the skin of her neck and she felt the warmth inside her, the dizziness of the ride ebbing and flowing and she blinked.

Grasped at his back and held him against her.

He'd slackened, freed her mouth and nearly collapsed on top of her.

She laid there and let him breathe, felt the deep rise and fall of his back against her palms.

He twitched absently inside her and she whined slightly.

Lips mumbled against the skin of her chest,

"Sorry…"

She smiled.

"Don't be."

* * *

The high keen of a baby crying jerked her awake.

Carol shifted, looked around to find the grey of the room surrendering to a pinkish-yellow.

The warm body wrapped around her shifted too, but didn't stir awake.

Daryl rolled away from her in his sleep, freeing her from the bear hug he'd kept her in throughout the night.

She sat up, listened to the tell-tale sound of bootsteps down below. And then, the low, tired voice of Rick speaking little half-nothings to his baby daughter as he tried to calm her cries.

Judith was very probably hungry.

And it would soon be time for everyone to get up and get ready to go, anyway.

Reaching down she fetched the tank from the floor and pulled it over her head, setting her feet on the cold concrete and leaning forward a bit to glance outside the cell.

The pink light of dawn glinted against her eye from the upper windows across the bay.

Behind her, Daryl rolled again, coming to fling an unconscious hand against her bare hip and a finger trailed before falling to the bed as he dozed.

Voices below began mumbling, and she knew it was almost time.

Today they would fight.

Today they would-

She reached back, laced her fingers through his and watched the pink light grow brighter.


End file.
